Aged Paper
by WhisperedSilvers
Summary: OO9: Rangiku is the master of manipulation, or so Ichigo thinks. —Hitsugaya/Rukia. Anthology
1. White

**Aged Paper**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Prompt: "Even if I had a choice, I'd still choose you."**

 **Summary: Because their relationship was made from bits and pieces of something intangible. —Hitsugaya/Rukia**

 **OO1: She was the embodiment of light. Surge-snippet. Prelude to "In Terms of Comfort."**

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 **White**

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Darkness. It seemed to wrap his thoughts with visions of blood. The Mizuchi wasn't a bad person, he wasn't, but the man had seen so much corruption and violence that Hitsugaya felt a headache form beneath his left eyelid. It haunted him, and he knew it haunted the Mizuchi. In a way, he was a lot like Hyorinmaru, but where Hyorinmaru would hesitate—the Mizuchi wouldn't.

Secure. He would secure everything, cut loose ends, finish the job—he was like a ghost, with barely of a presence, but he could feel that lock cross, tightly woven in between his ankles.

"Are you okay?" Rukia's voice broke threw his thoughts, like a mirror shattering and the glass cutting threw the air in blades.

He jerked back, dark lashes brushed against his cheeks, raindrops splattering against his window. The sound of pitter-pattering of the rain was soothing, his thoughts cleared the melancholy and renewed with the fresh splatter of warm water. Aqua-colored orbs focused on the small female who leant against the wooden wall, her pillow pressed against her lower back in her futon, the fire crackled in the fire place, orange-colored shadows flickered against her alabaster skin, "What?"

"Are you alright?" She asked again, her eyebrows furrowed, her violet orbs looked darker than her hair for a split moment.

"I'm fine," He paused, "Why aren't you sleep?"

"Can't sleep," A beat, "I felt your anxiety."

He blinked as if in shock. He was sure that he blocked off his emotions, did he slip—

"Your block wavered, is it the Mizuchi?" Rukia explained as she sat up, her feet moving towards the edge of the bed. She nearly frowned, even on the futon; her feet still didn't touch the ground.

Rukia _knew_ him and he wondered why that didn't bother him.

It's been a year since her almost-execution and six months after the Bounts invasion. It's been a year since both ice-wielders had contracted with the yokai, despite Rukia's immediate chemistry with her summon, it takes Hitsugaya, much, much longer to be familiar with his.

Hitsugaya couldn't lie to her, he nodded, "Sometimes, I can see things that the Mizuchi lived through."

"Dreams?"

"Yes."

Rukia stood up and walked towards the fire. The fire flickering, the smell of burning wood and the crackling warmth bathed her small stature with gold. He paused for a moment before he stood up and followed her previous steps.

"He still hasn't given you his name?" Her hands rubbed her shoulders, she scooted closer and on instinct, Hitsugaya removed his robes and draped it over her small being.

Rukia watched him. The soft dark blue robe, it smelled like him, warmed by his body temperature, meticulous fingers brushed the cloth of her shoulders, careful, he was always careful with her, his eyes, his eyes were always gentle when he spoke to her.

His hands hadn't left her shoulders.

But his eyes flickered from his robe towards her face; she couldn't decipher the emotions that flooded his teal orbs, it seemed like longing, but she knew better than that—it just couldn't be.

"No, he hasn't." Hitsugaya finally said, releasing her shoulders, and he turned back to the fire.

Thunder crackled outside his room, the wind howling and the rain started to slam against the windowpane.

"Akari once told me that if you keep thinking of things that are nothing of empty gain, it would only hold you back. Hesitation—is a life or death matter. The concept of control is merely an illusion." Rukia quoted, she turned her head to face him once again.

The corners of his lips quirked up, "I didn't know you were a philosopher."

She chuckled and something inside him warmed at the sound.

"Not really, but the point is," Rukia glanced back at the fire, "If you keep trying to find the solution to a question you don't know, you will never have an answer—don't think about it—the element of surprise is always reassuring, right?"

 _The element of surprise is always reassuring._

He said that to her when they were in the mountains, when she was terrified of being submerged into the spring, and now he was on the end of his own advice.

Hitsugaya sighed, "Right."

There was something that bothered her, she didn't want him to reassure her of course, and she didn't pride herself in being vulnerable. It was a shadow of doubt, an insecurity—she didn't need to feel ashamed that she felt this way—normal, it was normal. That's what she told herself. The question burnt the inside of her cheek like scalding water.

"What is it?" He turned his head to face her, the fire burning brightly in the dark room.

Rukia almost yelped, startled eyes locked onto his, "What?"

Sooty lashes brushed his cheek, he pulled a knee under his chin, "You want to ask something, but you're contemplating on whether or not to ask."

Lilac-orbs widened, the only indication of her surprise.

"Rukia," Her name sent a thrill than ran down his spine, "I know you like I know the back of my palm." Lightening flashed behind him, the rain lightening its presence on the roof, softly singing it's lullaby.

She turned away so he wouldn't see the vulnerable look in her eyes, when she spoke, she spoke gingerly, like the clouds that drifted in the sky, "I was just thinking about the day the reishi generators exploded, the surge. What if it wasn't me who stood there, what if it wasn't you who stood there—but someone else. You—"

Rukia felt a small drop of weight placed on her head, when she turned it was his hand that was resting on her person. And carefully, he ruffled her dark locks, he didn't look at her—his eyes were fixed on a point in the fire.

But Hitsugaya's voice was deeper than the thunder that roared outside, "Even if I had a choice, I would still choose you."

Rukia turned her head to the left to face the wall to the left; it was then Hitsugaya decided to look at her. Even when she did try to hide her face from him, he caught something small, glinting silver in the corner of the room to the left—he was looking at her, but her face was turned—

A mirror.

He saw her hide a smile, white pearly teeth, with her lips quirked and the sides of her eyes crinkling. Dark hair brushed the sides of her cheeks and amethyst orbs twinkled silver, even with the golden light illuminating her small stature.

It was a heart-warming sight.

He felt the air in his lungs disappear. A warm, light—almost dizzy feeling warmed his body and left his eyes half-lidded—his headache diminished.

Hitsugaya turned his head to face the blazing fire, the image of her smiling stuck in his mind forever.

The corners of his lips tilted up.

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	2. Pearl

**Aged Paper**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Rating: T**

 **Prompt: "What's wrong with you?"**

 **He smirked. "Lots of things."**

 **.**

 **Summary: Because their relationship was made from bits and pieces of something intangible.**

 **OO2: Sometimes it was the tiniest grain of sand that made all the difference. AU.**

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 **Pearl**

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It felt good. It felt _really_ good. Her fist was like hardened bone and sharp prickly wire. Her knuckles were small, hard as steel, but so very tiny. Her fist was the size of a kiwi, alabaster skin—her knuckles were throbbing. But it felt _so_ good.

Rukia Kuchiki slammed her knuckles into Gin Ichimaru's left cheek and it felt so _damn_ good!

She didn't care, she couldn't care—it was like a bright flash of lightening singed her veins when she saw him put his hands on Yuzu—Ichigo's sister. Ichigo was not here and that wasn't important at the moment—but when she saw that snake laid his hands on her—she didn't _think._

With a quick lunge, she pushed all of her weight into her small appendage, slammed her fist into his cheek, she could feel his teeth on the upper side of his jaw threw the skin—she almost grinned.

Of course she didn't regret it, Yuzu was gripping the back of her shirt with a white-knuckled grip, her whimpers barely audible to the roaring blood rushing in Rukia's ears. Unfortunately, the bastard's lackey called the police, tossing her in jail the same night—she could still remember Yuzu screaming after her.

Ichigo came and released her. He would scowl and growl—but there would always be that softening of his eyes, a pat on her head and extra treats at dinner that night. Karin wasn't always home, college was taking a lot of her time, and when she heard what happened to Yuzu, she came banging on the door—tears clouding her vision when she pulled her sister and Rukia into a hug.

The judge had demanded that she seek anger management or risk being sent to a mental hospital. Of course she scoffed at the outright absurdity, she should've kept her mouth shut—otherwise she wouldn't be in the facility.

The judge had taken her scoff as a challenge, with sadistic eyes and a malicious grin—he sentenced her to thirty-one days in a mental institution—there she would seek anger management _and_ be monitored.

Preposterous.

She didn't _need_ help.

But Gin had a slick lawyer, what was his name—Aizen? The bastard. He got off scott-free, Ichigo glared at him, when he smirked at Rukia—Karin, who wanted to run, but who also had more fury than fear—nearly slammed her phone in his face. When Yuzu grabbed her hand, she remembered just _why_ they were in this mess.

The bastard had convinced the judge to place her in a mental institution. Immoral didn't—couldn't—it was too good of a word to use for Gin and his lackeys.

It would be a long month.

Ichigo looked almost desperate when her parole officer came to retrieve her from the house. Her brother had died from a car accident, along with her sister when she was a child. Ichigo's father was kind enough to take her in, and Ichigo—Ichigo was her best friend. His sisters were _her_ sisters.

He looked like he was ready to cry, and of course she had to make fun of him—the fool.

He smiled and scowled—but there weren't any tears in his eyes. It made that knot in her stomach loose. Like cold water—good.

"Your sisters need their idiot brother. So don't worry about me." Rukia smirked at his frown; her arms were tucked under her chest. Her backpack was sitting on the ground as the officers took her suitcases into the car.

He scowled again, orange hair messy from the harsh wind, amber orbs burning with more fire than she's ever seen him with, "When you talk like that, how can I _not_ worry?"

The corner of her lips tilted up, "Quite easily."

The trunk slammed shut and she felt an inkling of trepidation soak into her bones. She shouldn't feel scared; she was going to a hospital with people, people whom were sick—

She was terrified.

She was sane—she _knew_ she was sane—she should've knocked Gin out—amnesia was always a fifty-fifty chance.

Ichigo's eyes hardened like sap on a tree. A subtle twitch in his jaw, his voice betrayed him, despite his calm and cool stature—his voice was hoarse, cracked, "The thirty-first. I'll see you on the thirty-first."

Karin and Yuzu came rushing to hug the small woman, her heart twisted uncomfortably in her chest. She wouldn't cry—she didn't need to cry—oh! How she wanted to cry.

Rukia nodded at their brother, and shock blurred her senses for a split moment. Ichigo lifted his hand, his warm, callous hand to pat her cheek—affectionately. Something hot flooded in her chest, with a tight grip it squeezed her heart—and she nearly choked.

Deliberately brushing her lashes downwards toward the floor, she crouched to slide her backpack over her shoulder. With a shuddering smile, her violet orbs glittered and pink lips burnt red, "I'll see you soon, Ichigo."

It was January first.

Thirty days left.

The institution looked like more of a graveyard than an actual hospital. It was cold. A type of burning cold that would sting fingers into icicles, and a flush that would have cheeks scalded. Dark brown cement with undertones of grey in a cathedral-like building, with pillars that were pointed like an arrow into hell and wide glass windows that were mirror-like—she bit the inside of her cheek.

Like a slave, she was branded with a metal band onto her right wrist. Her room didn't exactly look like a hospital room. It had wide-open windows, with natural light that filtered through the glass, white walls and white floors. It was a cold stone bed tucked into the corner of the wall, with a small dresser and a small chester draw.

Beggars couldn't be choosers.

The officers placed her bags onto the floor and left without a word. Rukia lay on the cool bed; she shut her eyes and prayed for today to end.

 **X**

The next morning Rukia was up before noon. The small bathroom that actually looked like a closet, was her sanctuary. She spent an hour in there, sitting in the shower, drying her skin till it was red and just looking at herself—reflection. Reflect. The mirror. She was supposed to reflect her past actions—she scoffed. As if she needed to. It was just a bad mix up, she didn't do _anything_ wrong. She was there at the wrong time, with the wrong people. She was defending Yuzu, it's not like she purposefully wanted to hurt Gin—she shook her head—that was a lie. She really did _want_ to hurt Gin.

Rukia left her room with ripped jeans and a white sweater. Wanting to explore the madhouse, she decided to get lost—skipping breakfast, she walked up two flights of stairs.

She almost didn't duck when a patient threw a glass plate at her head, said patient was screaming like the devil. She blinked before shaking her head, leaving that floor with thoughts of incredulity. The dark-haired woman walked through the corridors, ultimately she was bored—her _session_ didn't start till tomorrow.

Rukia somehow ended up along the roof, it was bitterly cold, but she couldn't seem to care. She liked the cold. It was snowing, it wasn't flakes of snow, it was wet snow, and she wasn't wearing a jacket. The cold splash of water burnt her skin, a cold burn that blistered her—numbing her fingers and sharpening icicles in the strands of her hair.

The sky was dark and grey. With no sunlight, everything was faded—like a storm, tension and even more tension, coiling with pressure that threatened to burst. There were metal tables scattered along the roof, along with connected tables. An umbrella in the hole of the table and concrete floors—there was a swing that was taped with cushion—not the type of swings you would see at a playground, but a kind of swing that was meant to sleep in.

Rukia walked towards the rail of the roof, a thick metal pole that curled around the edges of the roof in a protective border. She leaned over the rail, her elbows and forearms pressed against the bitingly cool metal.

The trees from beneath looked like hairbrushes with green bristles—it was so high. The ground was almost a muddy brown, with specks of green strands of grass, she couldn't tell where the pathway began and where it ended. The institution became more and more draining as she looked over at the horizon.

"Are you going to kill yourself?" A voice broke her morbid thoughts, stunned, she turned around to see a man with hair whiter than snow and teal orbs that looked more like gems laying on the swing, a fleecy green jacket covering his upper body and dark blue jeans. He looked uncaring, partially curious and partially languid.

Rukia's eyebrow twitched at the question, "No."

"So then why do you come to the roof," He flickered his eyes over to the rail, "And lean over the rail, while it's blistering cold?"

She shrugged, her violet orbs calculating, "I like the cold."

He raised his silver eyebrows, he sat up and looked at her, "You're no stranger than me."

Rukia took that as an invitation to sit next to him, what was he going to do even if he didn't mean it? The cushion was warm due to the previous body that warmed the pad. She leaned into the swing, and the man beside her pushed his weight into his heel and then into his toes, the lulling motion didn't burn her skin with the way the wind was blowing.

"So," Rukia started off, "What's wrong with you?"

He smirked, "Lots of things."

She stared at him and she wondered if that was supposed to scare her.

"What's wrong with you?"

She pursed her lips, "Some thing."

He laughed and she remembered she wasn't supposed to be amazed at the sound. Rukia turned her head to face the greying clouds before she felt a warm weight rest on her. Lilac-orbs blinked before she quickly looked at her shoulders—his jacket. Her eyes were wide and her breath caught in her throat.

When she turned to face him, he was wearing a black long sleeved shite, a stark contrast against his white hair.

"Toushiro Hitsugaya." He said.

A breath, "Rukia Kuchiki."

And suddenly, a month felt too short.

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	3. Ivory

**Aged Paper**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Rating: T**

 **Prompt: "You're a real handful."**

 **Summary: Because their relationship was made from bits and pieces of something intangible.**

 **OO4: Running. She was always running. —Hitsugaya/Rukia**

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 **Ivory**

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Her heart is stuck in her throat. Rukia is running. Blood dripping the side of her ribs and her arm is broken into two separate pieces. This is more than just a fracture. She could see purple spots on her elbow and the insides of her left wrist. It isn't in her jurisdiction to run—instinct; it's more like an instinct. Because Ichigo is missing and she doesn't know where the hell Renji and Lieutenant Matsumoto went.

She couldn't even trace their reiatsu.

Rukia destroyed that damn hollow, but more and more of the same hollows are starting to appear. They are roaring, shrieking and splintering trees into sawdust. She chokes when she inhales dust, eyes watering and her throat scratching.

 _Gods, she needs a fucking drink._

When Head-Captain Yamamoto recommended her for the hollow extermination in the World of the Living—she didn't think he meant _kill or be killed._ Because in the end, that's what it came down to—her destroying hollows and Ichigo running around to save the day—except this time, she didn't _know_ where Ichigo was located.

So she runs.

She needs help, because she's pretty sure that her broken ribs are about to puncture a lung, and she needs those lungs of hers to _breathe_ —function properly.

Trees blur her vision, she dodges a claw that swipes, cutting the air and brushing the side of her sleeve. She chokes when the hand slams onto the earth, crumbling the ground like sandpaper and she jumps—her hair whipping her face in small bursts.

"Dammit, dammit, _dammit!_ " Rukia swears when she rolls over to her side, she grabs her hand with her pointer finger, " **Bakudo Sixty-One:** _Rikujōkōrō!_ "

Six rods of light impale the hollow with quick blasts and instantly he freezes as the poles impale him. He howls and he's screaming—she winces at the high-pitch noise. She stands up breathing hard and fast. She can't run anymore—it is not as if she could, at least physically—but mentally she could run to hell and back in circles. Because running will cause her rib to really puncture her lungs.

With her injured arm she grabs her zanpakuto, intent on slaying the hollow, she snarls lifting her zanpakuto and she's just about to stab the _beast—_ the slightest tilt in her movement crushes an organ and then she's coughing blood.

A punctured lung and it's filling with blood quickly—too quickly that she's starting to see black stars.

" _Sit upon the Frosted Heavens_ : **Hyorinmaru!** " A voice pulsed with reiatsu pulsed throughout the forest, ice blasting in tendrils strangling the beast—the beast shattering into glitter.

Relief washes onto her to the point where it's almost painful. Her knees are limp and she kneels towards the ground coughing blood, the sticky liquid comes out in small splatters and she tries to breathe threw her nose and not her mouth. A headache begins to pulse throughout her temples from the lack of oxygen—she needs to gather her wits and _focus._

Hitsugaya walks toward her with quick steps, he leans down and grabs her across her forearms and she sits up, he swears when he sees the blood drenching the sides of her ribs, "You're a real handful, Kuchiki."

Purple orbs are hazy and she can barely make out just who exactly is in front of her, but she registers the comment and smiles awkwardly, "Sorry Captain."

He rolls teal orbs and pulls her up—she yelps flinching away from him, "Ribs, punctured lung—not so high!"

He sighs with more of exasperation than anger, "You need to sit up or the blood will rush to your mouth—nose,"

"S'not like I need to breathe."

Hitsugaya wants to laugh, but he thinks the situation is too morbid and too dire and too _entirely inappropriate,_ for him to even allow a small shred of amusement to escape the confines of his mouth. So he settles for a half smirk, where his teeth are white and visible, and his cheekbones are bit more defined than she's used to. "Kurosaki and Lieutenant Abarai are in three-way deadlock, Matsumoto is on her way to assist them."

The relief pronounces itself onto her face, the grimace disappearing with the words that are hiding in his sentence— _safe._

"That's good," Rukia murmurs, "Just give me a minute."

She needs a moment to collect herself—to control her breathing and her thoughts.

He feels like he needs to say something to distract her from the pain and he tries rake his brain for something to say because he can't stay in the awkward silence he _thinks_ he is in. "How many hollows did you destroy?"

"Seventy-five."

Hitsugaya is sure that his eyebrows are stuck to his hairline, he makes a sound of approval, "That's a lot, even for a Lieutenant."

"Ichigo promised me ice cream if I exterminate a lot more hollows than he does," Rukia slurs, blinking slowly, she doesn't notice the way his grip on her arms tighten nor does she notice the way his teeth grit.

Ichigo gets on his nerves in more ways than one, always dragging others into his situations; "The substitute is bribing you with _sweets_?"

She makes a sound of acknowledgement, "Told him he was going to grow bald if he kept fighting with me—"

He blinks trying to understand the—she's hallucinating; she needs _help_ , because she lost way too much blood and she can't _think_ properly.

Hitsugaya slowly lifts her up wincing at the small yelps over her bones snapping, "We need to get you to Urahara's, you're losing your wits—up."

Rukia is finally standing; he lifts a hand under her knees and keeps most of her weight in her hips.

Blinking she opens her mouth to protest, "What about Renji and Ichigo—"

He cuts her off with a scowl, "They can handle themselves, and you're _not_ going."

"But—"

"That is an _order,_ Kuchiki."

Rukia sighs, but decides not to bother. He is using shunpo to reach the shop and she can barely tell where the trees began and where it ends. When the house is in her peripheral vision, she allows herself to slump against strong arms, but then a hand tangles itself in her hair, he yanks her back, so her eyes are locked onto his and growls, "No, you are not _allowed_ to sleep."

"Why?"

"You lost too much blood. Stay awake."

"Tired," She mumbles, her eyes are drooping, but the hand in her hair is tighter and tighter.

"I know," He reminds her, "Just don't sleep… and _I'll_ buyyou ice cream."

Rukia's eyes snap open and suddenly, she's wide-awake. She blinks rapidly and looks at him with incredulity, "Wha- What? Really?"

A pause, "Yeah."

"Why?" She breathes.

Hitsugaya wants to answer, but he does not know _why_ he even offers a bit of his pay to help out the Lieutenant of Squad Thirteen. It irritates him that he cannot answer his _own_ question, so he thinks. He releases the grip on her hair and replies slowly, "Why not?"

She is flabbergasted, she cannot think of a rational thought, because the oxygen in her brain is quite scarce and her eyes are wide with confusion—she notices the pink on his ears and decides not to voice her thoughts. "I-I mean, you don't have to do that Captain Hitsugaya—I'm sure you have more important things to—"

"Kuchiki," He looks at her with bright teal orbs and she loses the words in her mouth, "Don't question your Captain."

She snaps her mouth shut and turns away—she couldn't go back to sleep now, because his words bother her and there is so much _chaos_ that is running through her mind, that she doesn't speak and looks at the blurring objects in front of her.

Hitsugaya notices that she's suddenly very quiet and when he looks down to see that she is _still_ awake and very much alert—but he also notices the pink that brushes the tips of _her_ ears.

There is a subtle curl of the lips, but neither of them notices either of their faint smiles.

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	4. Eggshell

**Aged Paper**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Rating: T**

 **Prompt: "I grew up in cities far worse than this one."**

 **Summary: Because their relationship was made from bits and pieces of something intangible.**

 **OO5: She wasn't ogling—she swears! AU! —Hitsugaya/Rukia. Anthology.**

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 **Eggshell**

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He pretends he doesn't see her. She looks at him and does not move her eyes from his masculine stature. He thinks she does it deliberately, in an ironic sense of blind truth, he is correct—she is _purposefully_ staring at him. But how could she not? He sticks out like a sore thumb, with bright—shocking white hair and aqua-colored orbs that seem almost _neon_ in the shades of the darkness.

His fingers are twitching against the slippery, plastic of his cards and gambling isn't his forte, but he makes an exception, because Rangiku is one of his closest friends and it's her birthday. Renji grins and asks for another drink—vodka? That is Russian he thinks, he wilts mutely—Momo's in Russia. Studying abroad in a country that has more snow than he can imagine.

He wants to be happy for her, he does, but she is just so _far_ away, and that is his only family, with his grandmother on the other side of the country and his best friends surrounding him, he can't help but feel a bit disgruntled—lonely maybe.

"You kay,' Hitsugaya?" The redhead asks swirling the liquid in his cup, he places a couple chips on the table, before quirking an eyebrow.

Hitsugaya forces the tension in his shoulders to leave, he tries to crack smile, but it ends up looking like a grimace. He still _demands_ that his friends, his colleagues, his teachers—everyone, to call him by his last name. It wasn't the matter of familiarity, but it was the acknowledgement. He is small, this he knows, but he doesn't need the constant reminder and belittlement from those he choose to acknowledge.

He works too hard to be put down from those of ignorance and arrogance.

He's a third year economics major and he is only nineteen. It is only be sheer dedication and hard work did he manage to skip a full academic year.

"I'm fine," Hitsugaya pauses to take a sip of his bourbon, "Don't you think you're drinking a bit too much?"

Rangiku laughs, too hazy for the laughter to be obnoxious, "There's no such thing as _too much_ ,"

He grunts, but sips his alcohol slowly.

He is only on his second drink and Renji and Rangiku are on their ninth.

"Hey,'s that Rukia?"

Hitsugaya didn't mean to blurt out his question, "Who?"

"Rukia!" Renji repeats again with more surprise, "She was in the orphanage with me."

He raises his eyebrows and he doesn't want to seem like she holds any interest—

"But she's boring a hole in you, Hitsugaya." Rangiku murmurs warmly, "Do you know her?"

"No." Hitsugaya's answer is short and stern.

"She looks like she knows you," Renji's accusation ran clear and loud.

He swallows, "I don't know her—never seen her."

"Should' go talk to her," Matsumoto nods her head to quickly and turns to look at her redheaded partner, "I _see_ you glancing back at her,"

He does not blush, but he very much wants to, he shrugs, "I can _feel_ her staring at me, it's only curious that I want to see _who_."

Renji stares at him for a moment before he scoffs with hazy eyes, "Smooth—I was almost convinced."

Hitsugaya scowls.

Rangiku laughs with glittering eyes, she shoos him, "Now go, see what she want's from the infamous Toushiro Hitsugaya."

Now, Hitsugaya almost never listens to Rangiku—mostly because, almost nearly of her suggestions, or rather _implications_ —were vile and uncouth. So it comes as a surprise that he actually stands up from his chair, with his left hand holding his cup of bourbon loosely, and his other hand jams deeply into his pocket. He is composed and it snaps the haze right of Matsumoto's cobalt orbs. Her mouth parts open for a moment—she is just as baffled, as Renji and it seems like she can't manage to compose herself.

Hitsugaya manages to swallow a smug smile and walk towards the girl with striking purple eyes with his face calm and cool, as it would allow him.

She is still staring at him and the closer he gets to her, he can see the indigo-blue flecks that swim in amethyst orbs.

He's in front of her, he places his cup onto the counter near her and says, "Is there a reason you're staring at me?"

The girl with dark hair and dainty features, quirks a brow, "I was just thinking."

He didn't mean it _like that,_ when he spoke, "Of me?"

He can't tell if she is trying not to smile or if she is trying not to frown, but then he realizes that she's calm and cool and composed— _just like him._ A touch of frost clouds her eyes and then it shatters like ice, "Sure, why not?"

It is a flippant answer and he tries not to chuckle.

"I could feel you boring holes into me,"

"It seems like you have a sixth sense,"

Hitsugaya shrugs, "It varies,"

"On what?"

That is a _good_ question—what _did_ it vary on?

Teal orbs glitter with something she can't place, he speaks before she could, "On the person who's focusing."

Thin eyebrows shoot up and she is really trying _not_ to smile—because that means he is affecting her and she can't let him know that he is. "Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki."

"Toushiro," He raises his hand and she grasps his, her hand is soft and dainty, "Toushiro Hitsugaya."

She nods, but she will not say more—he let's their hands fall.

So he speaks for her, "Well Rukia, what is that you were thinking—" He tilts his head innocuously, "When you were looking at me?"

Rukia's expression doesn't change from the cool and placid looking appearance at his almost-smug tone, "Your hair."

Hitsugaya blinks, "My hair."

She speaks flippantly, again, her hand nursing her drink—whiskey, and he feels something like amazement flutter in his ribcage, "It's quite shocking to see someone so young with gray hair."

Her words register in his brain and he scowls, his aqua eyes blaze with fire and his hand unconsciously grasps his cup, "My hair is not _gray_! It's _white_ —"

But then, he notices the twinkle in her eyes and realizes that she is doing it on purpose, he sighs with exasperation, crossing his arms under his chest, and accuses, "You did that on purpose."

Rukia's tone is dry when she replies, "You catch on quick, don't you."

He doesn't scowl, but he leans closer and Rukia is suddenly aware of how close he is. So cautiously, she leans back to give herself some more space, and he notices how she tries to put some distance in between them—it just makes him want to get closer.

Hitsugaya's thighs bumps her knees that are propped from the bar stool, Rukia is consciously aware of the fact that, that she can't move back any further because if she did, she would fall backwards off of the stool. Her spine is like a steel rod, as she sits up straighter.

He murmurs, "Well, what about you? The girl with dark hair and big, bright violet eyes who's small and dainty—even smaller than _me,_ alone at a bar where many men that have less than good intentions, lurk."

The almost flattering description he gives of her almost has her blushing—almost.

Rukia inhales shakily, she tries to calm her racing heart, and she tries to keep her tone blasé, "I grew up in cities far worse than this one."

"I know," He acknowledges, "You grew up in Rukon."

Something inside her stills, she narrows those gems she calls eyes, "How do you know that?"

Hitsugaya replies, "One of my classmates is Renji Abarai—told me he knows you."

She speaks with muted surprise, "R-Really? Renji's here—" She turns her head slightly with suspicion, "Is that why you came to talk to me?"

He shrugs, "It was mostly by his baiting," He innocently places a hand on her knee that was resting just by his thigh, she can't stop herself from flickering her eyes down to the appendage before flickering them back to his face, "But I think I would have come by sooner or later to see the woman that was ogling me."

That stone mask of ice and glaciers crack, she flushes and snaps, "I was _not_ ogling!"

"Yes, you were."

"I was _looking_!"

Now, he smirks, pleasantly satisfied getting under skin, just as she had done mere minutes ago, "If you say so."

The tables turn and Rukia can't remember ever feeling so flabbergasted.

So she huffs, crossing her arms under her chest, and this time she glares.

Hitsugaya realizes that he doesn't need to hide his feelings from her, because they're practically the same, and so, he laughs, "Now you've resorted to _glaring_."

"I'll do whatever the hell I want!"

He laughs again and this time he can feel his friends staring at him from the table across from them. So he thinks, "Do you want to see Abarai? He sounded like he wanted to see you."

Rukia tenses for a moment, and replies unsurely, "I haven't seen him since the orphanage."

His teal orbs soften, his voice is warm under the bar singer's voice, "I guess you have some catching up to do."

Hitsugaya raises his hand from her knee. She can feel the coolness of the air nip the skin where the warm appendage was—holds his hand in front of her to take. She hesitates for the briefest of the seconds, because she isn't sure if she wants to step into his world—but she takes it anyway.

He helps her down the bar stool, her heels clicking on the russet colored tiles, her cheeks are warm as she keeps her eyes on the floor, so she does not trip as she leaves the chair. Hitsugaya can see the pink of her cheeks and chuckles lightly. At the sound of his muted laugh, she looks up and his pleasantly surprised to see that he is only half a foot taller than her—not feet.

Rukia stiffens when she feels the hand on her lower back snake over her waist—warm, he is _so_ warm. He whispers in her ear for her to _play along._ So she does, she does not mind his hand wrapped around her, and they walk towards the table.

"Oooh~ Hitsugaya has a _friend_." Matsumoto grins.

"This is Rukia, Matsumoto," Hitsugaya introduces her to the busty woman, "Rangiku Matsumoto," He turns his head towards Renji, "I believe you know Abarai, Rukia?"

Rukia swallows the nerves and smiles hesitantly towards Renji, "Hey Ren—"

"Rukia!" Renji jumps over the table to smother her in a hug that's backbreaking and air-scarce, she leans back from the force of the hug.

"Renji—R-RENJI!" Rukia chokes, her ribcage cannot expand nor tighten, "I can't breathe, you baboon! R-Renji—GODAMMIT RENJI!"

Hitsugaya yanks Renji off of the smaller woman who is now inhaling deeply, "Abarai—control yourself!"

It's almost embarrassing when she sees tears glitter under the dim lights of the bar, "S-Sorry, it's been a long time."

Rukia's heart softens and her eyes are warmer than sunshine, "Sorry."

"It's alright Rukia—he's quite grabby when he's drunk," Rangiku coos almost lovingly.

But she remembers something—something that can even out the playing field for her and Hitsugaya. Rukia crosses her leg over her knee and sits up innocently and inquires innocuously, "Does that mean Toushiro is _not_ grabby when he _is_ drunk?"

The implications quickly sank in and Rangiku is _booming_ with laughter. Because even she knew that Hitsugaya is perfectly sober despite having only _two_ drinks—he is _not_ a drinker, and she is laughing so hard that her cheeks are starting to hurt.

"Rukia—" She inhales shakily, "You have officially made it to my best friend list."

Hitsugaya looks at Rukia, closes his eyes, and refuses to scowl, because he _knows_ what she is doing, and he _refuses_ to fall back into that trap, again. So purposefully, catching the eyes of the onlookers of the table, he throws an arm around her shoulder and yanks her towards the junction of his shoulder and clavicle, he lazily opens an eye and looks at her surprise with a coy sparkle, "No—I just like touching _you._ "

And once again, she is speechless.

Renji is laughing and Matsumoto is plotting—

Hitsugaya is still holding her and Rukia wonders if she'll ever _stop_ smiling.

* * *

 _Please Review!_


	5. Salt

**Aged Paper**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Rating: T**

 **Prompt: "You're a lot meaner than you let people think."**

 **Summary: Because their relationship was made from bits and pieces of something intangible.**

 **OO6: It was manipulation at it's finest. —Hitsugaya/Rukia.**

* * *

 **Salt**

* * *

"You know," Rukia starts off with wry grin, "I think Ikkaku could kick your ass."

Renji snorts, his fingers still tightly grip the sharp blades of grass, "I think you're delusional."

"He _is_ on Squad Eleven."

"Are you _trying_ to pick a fight?"

Rangiku laughs, her head rests lightly against the tree of the training grounds, she encourages her, "Captain Zaraki does _not_ take training lightly, and Captain Kuchiki usually runs about with clan matters. _Technically_ —"

"You too, Rangiku?"

Rukia laughs.

The three of them—except Rangiku who is propped against the tree of the training ground eleven, sprawls over the grassy planes outside the dojos, where the sky is blue and the sun is bright but hiding behind the threaded cotton of clouds—

"I could totally take Ikkaku,"

"Yeah _right_." She huffs, a grin stretching on her lips. Captain Ukitake is at a summit with Captain Kyoraku and Captain Zaraki—along with Captain Komamaru. Rangiku is currently hiding from her Captain—he has a mountain-load of paperwork that has _not_ been filled for the past _week_ —she did not _need_ to face his wrath.

"Ikkaku is ruthless," Rukia, adds casually, "He _thrives_ on pain—you on the other hand, would rather fight with your instinct—bitching about your wounds before going home."

Renji squawks, his nose flares, "What's with the personal attacks? Most I remind you, Rukia that you—"

She narrows purple orbs and snarls quietly, "That I _what,_ Renji?"

Sensing the dangerous tone that Rukia emits quietly through her voice, Matsumoto quickly clamps the redhead's mouth with her palm, nervously laughing, trying to purposefully destroy the hostile tension, "—that you are incredible ice-wielder. You look so pretty when you fight, Rukia! Isn't that right, Renji?"

His mouth is being suffocated and so his voice is muffled.

Her dark eyebrows raise, she tilts her head slightly, almost as if she's weighing her comments, "Really?"

"Of course," Rangiku smiles, "When your zanpakuto clashes with another snowflakes spark—it glitters in the sun. It's really beautiful."

Rukia smiles almost bashfully, her cheeks color softly, "It's nothing special, Lieutenant Matsu—"

"Rangiku, Rukia." Matsumoto sighs almost expectantly, "You shouldn't sell yourself short, sweetie. I mean, Haineko might not look like much—but when she fights it's like a tornado of madness and insanity."

Rukia blinks, she is surprised by the analogy, "I never thought about it like that."

"Mmhm, just like Renji's zanpakuto is like a bunch of monkeys running around wreaking havoc—you know spontaneous," She ignores Renji's sputter and continues, "All zanpakutos have a specific style when they are wielded by their masters."

"What do you suppose mine is?" A new voice interrupts Rangiku's somewhat passionate lecture, the trio tilts their head to see the newcomers.

Rukia grins, "Ikkaku, just the person I wanted to see."

Ikkaku raises an eyebrow and Yumichika snorts.

"To answer your question Yumichika," Rangiku starts again, "I think yours is more like a confused peacock."

"WHAT?"

Renji laughs.

Ikkaku ignores all three of them, he stoops low, "What is it you wanted to see me about, little Kuchiki?"

Rukia sits up, crossing her legs and she looks at him with a hard glint, the grin still firmly in place, "I told Renji that you could kick his ass."

The smile on Ikkaku's face is malicious, dangerous and most importantly—bloodthirsty. "Oh?"

Renji pales and his hands rise on instinct, "Wait a minute—"

The dark-haired woman deliberately sighs over her friend's frantic protests, purple eyes frost over into mauve, she flutters her eyelashes, "But Renji happens to think otherwise."

Ikkaku's eyebrows are furrow and a scowl mars his face, his fist tightens over his weapon, "Renji—would you like to _test_ this theory?"

"Now hold on, Ikkaku. I didn't—"

"And you're lying on Captain Eleven's property—you _are_ trying to pick a fight," The bald-headed man points out, his eyes bright and his teeth white. He unsheathes his weapon, a grin that's slightly wild and slightly insane curls onto his lips, " **Extend:** Hozukimaru!"

Ikkaku slashes Renji from the left to the right and the redhead yelps, he jumps back, clumsily trying to regain his footing, "Ikkaku—"

"Less talking!"

Ikkaku took their fight towards the center of the grassy field—

"So this is where you were, Matsumoto." Captain Hitsugaya's voice comes from above, the woman next to her stiffens; she turns her head to see him standing on a branch, his shoulder digging into the trunk. His arms crosses under his chest, a silvery eyebrow lodges into his forehead.

"C-Captain Hitsugaya," Rangiku laughs nervously, highly and just a bit senseless, "I thought you were at the meeting?" Her voice ends in a question, a high-pitched question, her eyes are a bit tighter.

"Finished early," He shrugs, his voice curt and tense. "I see you're doing nothing, after I told—"

She jumps in before her Captain can say anymore, "I wasn't—Yumichika and I were about to start training,"

Ayasegawa recoils in shock, Hitsugaya stares at her, he states flatly, "Really."

She nods rapidly, "Let's go Yumichika," She grabs him by the sleeve and uses shunpo to reach Renji and Ikkaku. The feminine man releases a muted curse at being pulled so _unattractively_ and uncouth.

Rukia blinks at how quickly they desert her; she sits up, very aware that Captain Hitsugaya lands on the ground next to her and abandons the tree branch.

"Pitting your comrades against each other is not very ethical, Kuchiki."

Now, the Little Kuchiki doesn't have much of a relationship with Captain Hitsugaya, she barely speaks to Captain Hitsugaya, so it comes as a shock that he chooses now of all times to speak to her.

"What do you mean, Captain?" Rukia chooses to act innocent.

He looks at her, those teal orbs of his burning with knowledge, "You _know_ what I mean, Kuchiki."

She rips off the façade with sigh, she crosses her ankles, and the wind blows. "How long have you been watching us?"

"From, _you are an incredible ice-wielder._ "

Rukia acquires some pinkness, she replies dryly, "From the beginning then."

"Of course."

Refusing to let silence cloud the tension, she starts off blasé, "Renji is my source of entertainment—it has nothing do with the bet he made with Ichigo."

Hitsugaya blinks, he does not smile, but he very much wants to, so he muses, "Oh? And pray, please tell me, what was this so called bet about?"

She tried not to hiss, "That I would reach my bankai in three years—three! Ichigo said two years."

Hitsugaya narrows his eyes, she looks at him, and he inquires, "What are the stakes?"

"Two years would equal a year supply of sake, if Ichigo loses he has to get a tattoo of Zabimaru on his chest and three years would be unlimited room and board when in the World of the Living, if Renji loses, he has to get a tattoo of Zangetsu on his chest."

A pause, "Did you bet?"

Rukia winces, "I told them I could reach bankai in six months,"

"And?"

"If I win I can choose what tattoo they get, and if I lose—I have to dress up as a hooker for Halloween."

Hitsugaya frowns, "What the hell is a hooker and Halloween?"

"Halloween is a day where you can dress up and pretend to be anything, like a princess, a cat, a dog—a hooker," She flinches, "Is a prostitute."

"WHAT?" He pulls back disgusted, his eyes are burning, and "How the _fuck_ could you—"

"I didn't choose the punishment!" Rukia quickly adds in, "The person who I'm betting against does."

A pause.

"And they chose _this_?"

Rukia crosses her arms, "My reasons are justified in having Ikkaku beat the daylights of Renji."

Hitsugaya rubs a hand down his face, sighing, "Did you really think you could reach bankai in six months?"

"I have to try! I'm a Lieutenant—I'm not that far from reaching bankai."

Hitsugaya looks at her as if she's something he's never seen before, veiled by thick dark lashes he looks at the fight from afar, "What were you going to have them tattoo?"

She says unabashed, "Rukia pawns all."

He laughs, his cheeks hurts, but he can't stop the chuckles that escape his mouth. He remembers when Ichigo constantly alludes to him as a child, and how he has _no_ sense of respect for those of higher rank. He tries to compose himself, trying to focus his attentions on permanently trying to brand in his brain that he is superior, he grabs his zanpakuto that is strapped to his back, "I can get you to bankai in one month."

Rukia snaps her head to look at him, her eyes are wide and child-like, she asks softly, "Really?"

"As long as you have Hyorinmaru in that tattoo as well."

She grins, "Of course."

* * *

 _There will be a part two to this someone along this anthology._

 _Please Review!_


	6. Cream

**Aged Paper**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Rating: K**

 **Prompt: "Life should just be simple."**

 **Summary: Because their relationship was made from bits and pieces of something intangible.**

 **OO7: It's the flick of the wrist— Hitsugaya/Rukia**

* * *

 **Cream**

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be anything special she muses. It's Rangiku's birthday and she wants to do something special, she didn't think it's any of _his_ business. But he's still here, watching her and it makes her slightly nervous.

"Captain Hitsugaya it isn't necessary for you to be here." Rukia comments lightly as she mixes the batter, the lumps dissolving to slowly for her liking.

"You are in my kitchen," Hitsugaya reminds her.

"Lie—Rangiku said that I can use the _squad's_ kitchen if I need to,"

He shrugs, "It is _my_ squad's kitchen—why don't you use _your_ squad's kitchen?"

She replies dryly, her dark eyes a fraction warmer than lilac, "Kiyone and Sentaro—had an accident."

He raises his eyebrow and bites back a smirk, "For Captain Ukitake?"

She sighs, "Yes."

"So you decided that this was the kitchen you wanted to use?"

"Nii-sama doesn't like me doing household chores," Rukia's voice is neutral, she doesn't look back at him, she focuses on the bowl in front of her that is dissolved.

"I see."

She doesn't say anything after.

She places the cake batter into the oven and cleans up her station. She grabs the very few ingredients she needs to make the frosting with, and she tries to ignore the teal orbs that bore hole in her. He's sitting at the counter, his elbows on the marble top and a hand under his jaw.

She pours the cream and the sugar, and she whisks. Her wrist moves in rapid in motions, the sugary concoction thickening ever so slowly.

"I didn't know the Kuchiki clan is educated in the arts of culinary." He bites his tongue, didn't mean it the way it came out.

She blinks; he can't tell if it's in shock or outrage, "I wasn't always a Kuchiki."

"Yes," Hitsugaya words it carefully, "The Captains and Lieutenants know you were adopted."

"From Rukon," Rukia states simply.

He flinches, shock filters through his eyes in flashes of silver, the hand under his chin tightens, and he can feel the empathy that pulses in his reiatsu. He knows what it's like to be knee-deep in poverty, and he frowns, "What part?"

Rukia tries not to act surprised at his sudden interest and initiation for small talk, "Inuzuri."

"Good."

She can't stop the shock that paints across her face, "Good?"

"Only the best come from the worst," Hitsugaya states quietly, his eyes are warmer than ice, but the thin line on his lips tells another story.

She tries not flush at the rare compliment.

She turns back to her bowl of liquid cream and sighs. She rummages in the cabinets to look for the electric beater, Yuzu had shown her how to use it, and of course, Rangiku had to buy it.

"Let me guess," He scowls, "Matsumoto bought it."

"Yes."

Rukia plugs in the electric beater, as soon as she puts the power button on, Hitsugaya watches her slowly, and the door slams open, and someone greets them with a bright call. She finches and accidently, her finger slips on the knob, she places the beater on the highest speed. The strange yelp leaves her mouth and the vibrations of the beater causes the mixture to fly onto the ceiling, splattering on her hair, his hair, her face, his face and their clothes. Hitsugaya yanks out the plug and they stare at each other with incredulity.

"Well," Rangiku's voice breaks the silence; she can smell the cake and her eyes are bright, "Aren't you guys sweet!"

* * *

 _Part two of this is also coming soon._

 **note1: I changed the title "Color Wheel," to "Aged Paper," because two-hundred oneshots didn't seem proper for an anthology.**

 **note2: 20 chapters for this anthology. Any others will be separate.**

 **Please Review!**


	7. Snow

**Aged Paper**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Rating: T**

 **Prompt: "Shop till we drop!"**

 **Summary: Because their relationship was made from bits and pieces of something intangible.**

 **OO9: Rangiku is the master of manipulation, or so Ichigo thinks.**

 **X**

* * *

 **Snow**

* * *

Christmas was a magical time. At least that is what Rukia thought. It was two weeks before that magical holiday and she arrived from the Soul Society with orders to exterminate the hollows that seemed to increase this time of year. Captain Hitsugaya and Lieutenant Matsumoto were the only three people that Head-Captain Yamamoto could spare.

"What about this?" Ichigo asked pulling out a yellow scarf that was brighter than an egg's yoke.

"That's disgusting Ichigo, what the hell is wrong with you?" Rukia said disgusted, she yanked the hideous cloth back into the stack of clothing.

"Can't you try a cute color? Maybe pink, Yuzu likes pink right?" Rangiku added in helpfully, she yanked some mittens from a hook and threw them at the redhead's face, and then grabbing more silk pajamas, she threw it backwards and grabbed another bag.

Christmas shopping.

Rangiku _lived_ for shopping. Sales, sales and more sales! Who cares about _boys,_ (that were actually hiding behind that stall of dresses, watching her majestic figure) when there were boots _half_ off!

"Rangiku, those are expensive!" Ichigo gaped at the prices, "Can't we go to another store—"

"Oh, be quite Ichigo. These are from me, I'll _pay_ for them." She clucked her tongue, "Just hold."

Rukia chuckled.

"You do realize, that I'm not paying for anything _you_ buy." Hitsugaya spoke up, glaring at his lieutenant.

"Oh, I know Captain! I'm buying these cause' I can!"

He sighed.

He could never understand what was so appealing to _shopping._ But moreover, why was he _here_? Ichigo had explained (about humans) to the clearly uneducated captain, that _Christmas_ was the season of shopping, the season of where humans were most predictable; it was very easy to foresee where the large groups of humans were going to be placed—it _attracted_ hollows. So logically, Rukia snorted with hilarity here, Ichigo was in a sense, correct about the distribution of shinigami in the area.

"Are you going to buy anything, Rukia?" Rangiku asked as she stopped her rummaging on the shelf of bright cashmere to look at the small woman.

Rukia shook her head, "I finished my Christmas shopping a few days ago."

"Oh? Did you buy your brother a gift?"

She shrugged, "I got him something, I don't think he'll like it."

Ichigo snorted, "The bastard is filthy rich—like he would need anything."

Rukia punched him in the gut, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Shut _up,_ Ichigo!"

Captain Hitsugaya sighed, "Haven't we done enough shopping?"

Matsumoto gasped dramatically, " _Captain_ ," she sounded scandalized, "There is never _enough_ shopping we can do! Besides, I have to get Rukia and Orihime a gift."

Violet orbs blinked, "Lieutenant Matsumoto, you don't have to get me—"

"Oh hush now," Her blue eyes were warmer than the sea, "You deserved to be spoiled, Rukia. Now, blue or purple?"

Hitsugaya watched from the corner of his eye, how the smaller Kuchiki's expression softened into something like kindness and warmth. It was something akin to appreciation. It made him look away quickly, he felt as if he were intruding on something—something personal.

"White," She replied, her nose slightly red from the cold wind. The outdoor bazaar had shops and stores in every corner of the, despite the freezing cold, it was aesthetically pleasing to see something—to see this place look like those contraptions that humans call _film._

Rangiku stared knowingly and she was fighting a smile.

"White?" Hitsugaya wasn't aware that he said this out loud, his eyebrows furrowed without his consent.

Rukia looked at him, there was respect, of course, but there was something gentle about the way her eyes flickered over to him, the touch of frost coloring violet and he inhaled sharply.

Ichigo looked at the both of them and felt like he should say something, but Rangiku very subtly handed him another bag—instantly cutting off his almost-spoken comment.

Hitsugaya was still looking at her, waiting for her to say something—anything.

And then, something dropped on his nose.

It's cold and wet, but it burned pleasantly and it smelled sweet.

 _Snow._

Rukia curled her lips up, just barely, "White."

* * *

 **it's almost summer and i'm writing about christmas. _why_**

 **Please Review!**


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